


Finding Cas

by dustlines



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Homeless Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 09, Team Free Will (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21767701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustlines/pseuds/dustlines
Summary: Several months after the angels fell, Dean finds Castiel's coat. There are a variety of donut shop and laundromat receipts in its pockets, and Castiel is nowhere to be found.Based on an anon prompt from Tumblr:"Dean finds Cas has been living as a homeless (human) person for months because he thinks it's what he deserves/doesn't think he can go to Dean. He's too thin and too cold and scruffy and uncared for. What's the first thing Dean does once he finds all this out?"
Comments: 13
Kudos: 111





	Finding Cas

* * *

It's coincidence that Dean even finds the coat, several months after Heaven fell and Castiel went missing. At an outdoor flea market in Oaks, Pennsylvania, Dean is interviewing a man who is wearing a ridiculous, rainbow-colored umbrella hat when the wind picks up and a flash of tan catches Dean's eye. It's like his entire ribcage jumps two inches to the left, and his gasp is loud enough that it startles Sam, who is standing by his side.

His mouth completely dried out, Dean squints against glaring sunshine and bitter cold, watching the tan coat drift aimlessly at the front of a rack of dusty clothes. He feels stuck, glued to the dying grass below, and it takes Sam clearing his throat for Dean to startle back to awareness.

”Agent?” Sam prompts, and Dean remembers that he is supposed to be figuring out if Mr. Umbrella Hat is buying and selling Mayan relics on the black market — black as in _magic_. The matter seems so unimportant now.

Dean abandons the interrogation, and the way Sam stares at the rack of clothes Dean is heading towards tells him that Sam has noticed the coat, too.

"D—uh, Agent!" Sam cries, then says, "Excuse me," to Mr. Umbrella Hat before stumbling over tall clumps of dried-up grass to grab Dean's shoulder. "You need to focus. It's not—"

"I know the pattern on those buttons!" Dean hisses back, forgetting for a moment how crazy that sounds, or that it reveals to both of them that he has spent enough time staring at Cas to be able to recognize the difference between one dappled tan and black button and another, almost identical button. "It's his coat! It's Cas' damn coat!"

Someone loudly clears his throat behind Dean's back, and Dean turns to see an opportunistic gleam growing in Mr. Umbrella Hat's eyes.

"You like that?" Mr. Umbrella Hat must think this is a joke, for he puffs up and holds up his suspenders with a pleased, greedy look. "It's a coat they don't make anymore, so you understand, it's going to be a bit _costlier_ than the other—"

"Listen to me!" Dean snarls, yanking the coat from the rack in a spray of rusty flakes. Dean swoops in, scowering, still clutching the coat in one shaking fist. He feels adrenaline like he hasn't felt since Purgatory, and suddenly Mr. Umbrella Hat looks very small under his brightly colored, rainbow hat. "This is my best friend's coat, and I've thought he's dead for months! Now _where_ did you _get_ this!?"

Mr. Umbrella Hat stammers, large hands flapping everywhere, looking like he's going to have an asthma attack. Dean gets yanked backwards by Sam, who grabs the coat from Dean's hand and starts rifling through the pockets. Alarmingly, the urge to _whine_ in protest fills Dean's throat, but he stamps it down when Sam produces a fistful of crumpled receipts from the pocket. Dean can't let go of the coat's sleeve, and half gets dragged along when Sam starts leaving the area.

"We can find the most recent date on these," Sam says, while Dean's vision is too hyper-sharp to actually be able to read any of the crumbled pieces of paper Sam is shuffling in front of them. "It might help us pinpoint his location."  
  
Quickly, they walk away, both of them ignoring the loud protests of Mr. Umbrella Man. They both know pretty immediately that their current case has just dropped several rungs on the priority ladder.

"Sam, where _is_ he?" Dean growls, and even though Sam can't possibly know that so soon, Sam still offers him a tight smile.

"We'll find him, Dean. You always do."

* * *

It takes about a day and a half's travel to double back to Hays, Kansas, a town that's been practically under their nose all this time. The majority of Cas' donut shop and laundromat receipts originated from various spots in the town, all paid for in cash, and Dean drinks so much coffee on the way there that he makes Sam drive because he's shaking too hard.

At the town, they bring with them pictures of Cas (though not many; they don't even _have_ a lot of those), and though they're careful about who they approach, they eventually start to pick up on a certain pattern. There are scattered reports of a homeless man who likes to sit in the park at night and feed the few birds that are going against their nature to eat under moonlight instead of the sun. The homeless man seems to match Cas' description, though perhaps somewhat negatively — Dean doesn't recall Cas being "deathly pale," for example, but it's a good start to go on.

Sam drives them to the park, but only because Dean is pressing his palms to his face in the passenger seat of the Impala and hissing, repeatedly, "Sam, I'm gonna kill him. I am going to _kill_ him!" and Sam is responding only with soft nods and repeated chants of "I know, I know."

The park is medium-sized, outlined by a gravel parking lot, and in the center of it is a gigantic duck pond that's more algae than it is water, where a single swan cuts sadly through the weeds growing on the surface. Stretching away from the parking lot are two paths leading in opposite directions, and Sam suggests they split up, then asks which way Dean wants to go.

Dean is beyond making decisions right now, but he looks down one path (towards the duck pond) and the other path (leading to a hill that overlooks the town), and he makes his choice. He points at the duck pond, even as he runs away from it, and Sam, with a nod, runs towards that one, lonely swan that's floating in filth. Dean, meanwhile, runs up the hillside path in dress shoes not designed for this kind of effort, and he doesn't care about the mud splashing all over his pants.

The run takes several minutes, Dean's heart about to burst in his chest, and he's about to run back and ask Sam to take this path instead of him when Dean runs past a scraggly bush, half dead and half alive, small notes tied into its branches, and beyond that is a worn down picnic table.

On the edge of the table, cross-legged and dipping his head so that his shoulders are slouching badly, Castiel sits in what could almost be a position of prayer if it were not for the shaking of his body. He's not wearing a coat, despite the autumn chill in the air, and his spine is clearly defined through the back of his threadbare, green t-shirt.

"Cas!" Dean shouts, before he can stop himself, and Cas puts a hand to his forehead and laughs, weakly.

"Hello, Dean." And then, in a lowered voice that sounds almost like he's addressing himself alone, Cas adds, "You found me again."

Dean skids to a stop right in front of the picnic table, and he's about to sweep Castiel up and spin him around in the most pathetic display of happiness Dean has ever let anyone see, when Castiel looks limply up at him. Castiel's eyes are red-rimmed, as though he's been crying, and his face is just slightly thin enough for concern. Instead of swooping Castiel up into the air, Dean just puts his hands on both sides of Castiel's face and leans in, letting their foreheads bump together.

There are so many things Dean wants to say, and probably _should_ say, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is, "I found your coat."

"Oh?" Up close, Castiel's eyes look even more shadowed, a deep weariness in his expression. "A child stole it from me while I was sleeping." He huffs, and it's neither laugh nor sigh, just the weary expression of a man who has resigned himself to whatever may happen to him, good or bad. "I saw her wearing it the next day. She looked cold, so I let her keep it."

Dean's chest is hurting when he shrugs out of his suit jacket, draping it over Castiel's shoulders. The look of gratitude he receives is beyond words. "Cas," he says, his hands rubbing the sides of his friend's ears to try to make them a little less red, "Aren't you cold, too?"

Cas laughs, and maybe he's delirious from exposure, or maybe he's just about to cry. Either way, Dean pulls him into his arms and feels Cas' bony arms wrap around him in turn.

Cas whispers, into Dean's collar, "I'd forgotten what warmth felt like."

On the hill, Dean sees Sam approaching, waving first but then pausing, as if he's hesitant to come any closer. Dean waves him over, and as Sam walks past the bush full of hastily scribbled names, many ending in "-iel," Dean slips an arm under Castiel's legs and pulls him up from the table.

"Come on, we're going home."

There's a pause in which Dean is expecting Castiel to protest, but Castiel only wraps his arms around Dean's neck and burrows his nose against Dean's skin. He's cold to the touch, and Dean's jacket is loose around his hunger-ravaged body.

"Can I stay with you?" The question is full of fear, and it is clear that it took a lot out of Castiel to ask it.

Dean pulls Castiel higher against his chest, putting his face against Castiel's hair and breathing him in. "Yeah, Cas," he says, even as Sam starts shrugging out of his own jacket beside them to drape over Castiel's legs, which are clothed in worn, dark gray denim. "You've always been welcome."

Castiel makes a small noise when Sam reaches for him, offering to take the burden of his body from Dean's shaking arms, but Dean angles his shoulder to keep Castiel where he is.

"I've got 'im, Sam," he says, and Castiel lets out a shaky breath and leans closer to Dean. Between them, their hearts beat out of sync, but Dean thinks that will change when Castiel has warmed up a bit more.

Sam, beaming brighter than the sun, leans over Dean's shoulder. "It's good to see you, Cas," he says, to which Dean watches Cas smile weakly and lift a hand, which Sam clasps between his own two, bigger hands. "You like coffee, huh?"

Cas' weak smile does not fade, nor does his hand slip from Sam's. "Dangerously so."

"Well, the bunker's got lots of it." Sam leans closer, as if imparting a secret. "I think Dean's developing an addiction. He draws faces in the foam."

Though obviously weakened, Cas seems amused by this, and he bumps his forehead against Dean's chin. It's gentle and affectionate, no trace of mocking in it, and Dean smiles a little and quickens his pace. Castiel, though weighing less than he should, is a substantial weight in Dean's arms, not that he minds.

For as long as Cas needs him to, Dean is happy to hold him close.

.

2013.08.08

[.](https://dustlines.livejournal.com/28411.html)

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